Of course the Pope
Blows soap bubbles
Out his ass
In the Papal bubble bath!
Don't we all do that?
Sinning, spinning, concentrating on winning?
Don't we all eventually tire
Of street people whose souls are dead?
Don't we all hold our wallets tight
Avert our eyes, glassy, unseeing,
And eventually turn away?
They call it compassion fatigue, hypocrisy
I am just finally repelled by a long history
Of stinky smells and body fluids on the sidewalk
My senses assaulted, I am catapulted
Back into my own pretty flower world
Of blonde children, health food, art glass
The cold chill of social class
But I know if Christ were here
He would be living on that street, a queer
And none of us would notice him
And the Popemobile would glide right on by
Not even a wave, a stop by, a Visit, a tiny hi
Religion doesn't mean that, it's all pie in the sky
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